


Beyond

by Phosphorite



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gift Exchange, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 09:50:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9716054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phosphorite/pseuds/Phosphorite
Summary: Nanase Haruka writes a book. Then two. Eventually, a third.Then comes the fame.Then comes the TV deal.Then comes the trouble.(Or, the story where the worlds we live in are sometimes locked inside our heads.)[Gift exchange fic for Aenya / TheGirlOnFandoms]





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aenya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aenya/gifts).



> Uh... hi!
> 
> So fun story: back in December, Aenya asked me if I'd like to participate in a no-pressure, no-stress fic exchange. Given that most of my recent writing attempts can be summed up in "lol as if even a mola mola would read this", I think I jumped at the chance to try out something a little different.
> 
> ...Only to choose a Harurin prompt.
> 
> ...Well.
> 
> The good news is that I fell right back in love with Haruka and Rin while writing; the bad news is... that I fell right back in love with Haruka and Rin, which means that I probably have to do something about my schedule to actually clear room for continuing to write more. (You know the story I'm talking about.)
> 
> ...Crap.

 

 

 

i

 

In the beginning, there is an idea.

In the beginning, there is a blank sheet of paper, folded over in a notebook.

In the beginning there are countless hours rooted on the worn-out seats of a train back home from work, back and forth, each spent scribbling furiously until the notebook runs out of pages and he runs out of ideas; but there is always more paper (on konbini receipts, on free tissue samples, on the back of his hand) and the ideas, well, they're often the self-generating kind.

"You know, this is good," his best friend says one day, leafing through something that vaguely resembles a finished manuscript, "You should try, I don't know, sending it to a publisher? It could really go somewhere."

"I don't care," is what he says, though. "If you do, then do it yourself."

It's a flippant notion, and an equally foolish assumption that his best friend would not, in fact, care enough to submit the story. But this is one of the many things he comes to learn in the two years that follow -- the strength of his writing, and the tenacity of a best friend driven to see him succeed.

"You know, this is good," said best-friend-turned-manager says one day, leafing through a third manuscript in the making. "I could try, I don't know, pitching it to someone. The whole series, for TV. It could really go somewhere."

There's a split pause before the response comes, but the warning signs are not enough to hold his tongue.

"I don't care," is what he says, predictably, "If you do, then go on ahead."

But predictable as the exchange may be, what he'll come to learn in the three years that follow is not only the strength of his writing, or the dedication of his manager; but the dangers of indifference, and stories that weave themselves without his will.

In other words (were this not a tale of artistic ambition, and rather, a preview for a magazine guide) --

Nanase Haruka writes a book. Then two. Eventually, a third.

Then comes the fame.

Then comes the TV deal.

Then comes the trouble.

 

 

 

ii

 

"Yeah, we're not gonna do this."

The manuscript lets out a _thud_ as it lands on the table, the neat order of sheets marred only by aquamarine note slips glued onto virtually every page. As Yamazaki Sousuke's eyes trail up from the documents, their similar hue reminds Haruka of refusal; it has done so for the better part of a year, every time they land themselves in this room (which is one year too often).

"Ah, I'm sure what Yamazaki-san means is that--"

There he goes, the voice on Haruka's left; for a manager, Tachibana Makoto is quick on his feet to react, but this time Yamazaki leaves no room for pleasantries.

" _What I mean_ is that we're not gonna do this," Yamazaki repeats, pressing the manuscript further down with a single index finger, "This storyline. Regardless of whether your messed up vision works in a book, it's not going to translate for TV."

Haruka lets the silence fall for a second, then another, before he opens his mouth with so little emotion in his voice it comes off as a jeer:

"I thought butchering my ideas was what you're paid to do."

The groan that leaves Yamazaki has an entire year's worth of frustration backing its edge, and the look he shoots at Makoto is nothing short of pleading.

"Can you please tell your client that my job is to _produce_ this show," he says, "And _not_ taking the blame for every ounce of personal vindication he feels towards the alterations that were necessary to adapting the story into a weekly format?"

Haruka's shoulders grow tense at the last syllable in the word _necessary_. Snagged on that lone word, his palms rest heavy on the surface of the table before Makoto has the chance to work in any pre-emptive damage-control.

"...Necessary?" Haruka repeats calmly, "...You are saying was _necessary_ to scrap Aki's entire character from the second season?" He's clearly not waiting for an actual response, proceeding to slam Yamazaki with an uncharacteristically verbose accusation. "...It was _necessary_ to give Yuuta a pointless love interest? To throw in a beach episode in the middle of an intergalactic _war_?"

Yamazaki's hands lift, then twitch as though strained to strangle.

(It's strange, bizarre even, to think there was once a time when the two of them spoke to each other using the standard formalities of business associates, instead of sounding like brothers fighting over a family estate.)

"Nanase, listen," Yamazaki calls out in the end, as polite as he can make it. "We're not talking about this again. I have nothing else to say to you except that we're not using this script as a base for the show, because you've clearly written it just to spite the executives."

Haruka twitches, in spite of himself. "Did not."

Yamazaki merely lifts a brow, then pulls at the manuscript. It is far, far too easy for him to flip out a certain page and read it back to Haruka out loud:

" _Natsuki, the heroine, proceeds to turn into an eight-headed sea serpent and swallows an entire country of disco-dancing salmon while a choir of toasters descends down from heaven to sing the Pen Pineapple Apple Song._ "

He lowers the page, just enough for his eyes to remain visible. "If there was a camera in this office, I'd be staring into it right now."

Haruka stares back, deadpan. "I don't see your point."

"My point is," Yamazaki counters, knowing full well he's simply humoring Haruka, "That not only would it take our special effects department over six months to put that on screen, but just trying to pay the royalties for that song would leave us bankrupt."

"Then do what you always do," Haruka's voice remains courteously snide, "And change it up."

"And get bombarded with audience backlash once the book comes out and the TV show doesn't match?" Yamazaki lets the manuscript flop back down, sighing. "No. You know as well as I do that you have an _incredibly_ dedicated fan base. I'm not going through another social media catastrophe, not like the one after we edited the season four finale. But both of us know there was no reason to write in Natsuki turning into Joseph Joestar, any more than she had to launch the entire cast of Metal Gear Solid into the moon."

"They were important to the plot."

" _They're copyrighted characters!_ "

By his side, Haruka senses Makoto tense up. In an unusually bold move, he reaches over and places his hand in the space between the manuscript and Haruka.

"Yamazaki-san, Haru--" he begins, "Please, can we stop arguing for a second? I know-- I know both of you have strong opinions on the series. But the adaptation clearly is not working out anymore."

"Tell that to your client," Yamazaki sighs, "It's obvious Nanase's trying to sabotage the show just to get out of his contract. But as much as I'd love to relieve him of his involvement with me," he pauses decidedly, just to stress the word, "As long as these books keep making money, it'll take a more than that for the channel to drop its biggest cash cow. And that's why I'm not allowed to leave this meeting until we have some kind of idea about the next season, one that is _not_ this joke of a manuscript."

For a moment Makoto remains silent. Then he glances at Haruka, tentatively at first, but quickly gaining confidence as his words ring out:

"Haru, you... I know this probably isn't what you had in mind, back when you first started writing _Natsuki in Space_. But... so many people have grown to love your writing, and this series, and it would be a shame to throw it all away just because you're unhappy with the way the adaptation was handled."

Haruka turns his head.

Yamazaki sighs.

"Look," he says, "How about you let me help you get things back on track?"

The sudden earnestness in Yamazaki's voice nearly startles Haruka, but sure enough, there is something sincere in his expression when their eyes meet again.

"I know you probably won't believe me, but I want what's best for this show, too." Yamazaki lifts his hand, quickly waving his former words off. "No, I-- I want what's best for your books, even if we haven't always been able to accommodate everything due to budgets and directors."

"So give me an unlimited budget," Haruka says sharply, like a surprise attack that Yamazaki catches in midair.

"No," he shoots it down with little effort, "But I will give you a new director. I had this idea on reserve on the off-chance you wouldn't give me much to work with, but it wasn't an easy one to land-- he's someone who doesn't do TV anymore, but we go way back, so he promised to give it a shot if you refused to compromise."

Haruka does not appear impressed. "You're expecting me to compromise? Because of some friend of yours?"

"No," Yamazaki replies, and this time there's something oddly unsettling in his smile.

"Because of this friend of mine, I'm expecting both of us to get exactly what we want."

 

 

 

iii

 

It's not a very sunny day, the day the director arrives.

Haruka thinks of this, because when he opens the door to his apartment, the man in front of him is wearing shades.

The man is also wearing: a cream-coloured V-neck, a long necklace, expensive-looking dark jeans, a jacket thrown over his shoulder as though mimicking the casualness of a leisure ad.

Of course Haruka notices the details. He's a writer, after all.

"I'm not looking for an escort," is the first thing that comes out of Haruka's mouth; the man clearly cannot be the director, because he looks lost on his way to a club.

"Haah?" is the equally courteous response; the man pushes up his shades, but the look on his face is not as perplexed as one could expect. Most people are thrown off by Haruka's indifference towards business courtesies, but judging from the way the director lifts a Yamazaki-esque brow, it's obvious who must have cued him in.

It's not the only familiar thing on that face, Haruka is quick to note. The red hair pulled back in a short ponytail, the sharp angles of his jaw -- it reminds Haruka of something or someone else, but in the three seconds that pass between their initial not-introduction, he fails to connect the dots.

"Hi," the director says, evidently deciding he wants an introduction after all. "You must be Nanase. Nice to meet you. I'm Rin."

Another three seconds, and Haruka realizes that is the end of the sentence; apparently, this man operates on first name basis, kind of like Beyoncé, or Pikotaro, or maybe the emperor himself.

It is possibly the most pretentious thing Haruka's heard in his life.

"Yes, I'm Nanase," he confirms instead of commenting on this fact. " _Nanase Haruka_."

Whether _Rin_ misses the deliberate tone of his voice or not, he seems unfazed.

"Well then," he says, "You probably know why I'm here. Over the course of the next 48 hours, we're going to revamp your next book manuscript into something that I can also submit to the channel execs and then we'll both get to go home and live happily ever after."

Haruka glances at Rin's feet, then back at his face.

"Well then," he mimics, "Considering I'm already home, I guess we skipped right 'till the end."

Whatever trendy ankle boot Rin is wearing, it's sturdy enough to withstand the door Haruka almost closes in his face. Inching himself through the doorway with a swear word or two, the look he shoots at Haruka is far from amused.

"Okay, they told me you might be like this," he snaps, a little agitated already, "But look. I'm here because I owe someone a huge favour, okay? You can drop the juvenile act. I know you're not twelve."

It's not particularly aggressive, yet Haruka still takes a step back and allows Rin into the hall. He says nothing while Rin finishes taking off his shoes, nothing still when Rin enters the studio apartment he calls home; but the moment Rin shrugs off his messenger bag and reaches for his laptop, Haruka finally speaks up:

"You don't know anything about me, though."

He doesn't say it in defiance. It's simply a fact.

Because Nanase Haruka, _the writer_ , is not someone whose life you browse through on Wikipedia. In fact, with the limited amount of press coverage he's had over the years, most readers probably still think he's a woman. It's Makoto who takes care of any and all publicity drivel, because Haruka cares about none of that; all he wants is to sit in this studio apartment, let the broth for his mackerel ramen simmer, and write.

"Ah, but that's where you'd be wrong," Rin says though, glancing over his shoulder at Haruka as he proceeds to boot up his laptop. "Because I happen to know that Nanase Haruka is twenty six years old, originally from a small town called Iwatobi, moved to Tokyo at the age of twenty three. His best friend is Tachibana Makoto, who also became his manager after he got Nanase's first manuscript published."

A flashy wallpaper of a surfing shark flickers in the background until Rin's opened documents cover the screen.

"Your books have topped the best-seller list for three years running," he goes on, distracted by trying to find the right file. "While the combined success of the TV series based on your books has turned you into a millionaire. But you've since come to hate the show, and would clearly rather it crash and burn along with the writing that made you famous."

He evidently lands on the file he's looking for, because one side of Rin's mouth curves up.

"It's not half bad, y'know," he says, tossing Haruka a look that's far too self-confident for someone who is essentially an intruder in Haruka's house, "The writing, I mean."

 _Duly noted,_ Haruka might reply, but the words never actually leave his mouth. Clinical as the facts may be, it's still strangely unnerving to know a total stranger has any personal information on him; meanwhile, all Haruka knows about Rin is that he dresses gaudy, sounds pompous, and has terrible taste in computer wallpapers.

Rin, of course, seems oblivious to this imbalance of power.

"Okay, here we go," he beckons at Haruka to sit down, pointing at the laptop with his other hand. "I got Sousuke to e-mail me the original manuscript, and I already made a bunch of notes. If you agree to all the changes, I think I could have your story fixed by tonight."

Clearly, Rin is no less oblivious to his own ego, and the way it trickles down his voice is nearly impressive; Haruka can literally feel the side of his face twitch in response.

"... _Fix_ it?"

The two of them have known for all of fifteen minutes, and it's all headed south fast.

Something in Rin's shoulders tenses at the intensity in Haruka's tone, but while Haruka's used to most people intuitively cowering at it, all Rin does is straighten out his back without an air of intimidation.

"Nanase," he enunciates clearly, "Do you have any idea _who_ _I_ _am_?"

Sure enough, twenty two and a half answers pop immediately in Haruka's head but only 70 percent of them are fit for the rating of this story.

When none of those witty retorts fail to verbalize, Rin takes it upon himself to cock his head to the side.

"Last year, I directed not two, not three, but _four_ films that ranked in the top five highest-grossing films in Japan," he says like a verbal shrug, "You might have heard of the one that took the top spot. It was a little something called, oh I dunno, _My Shining_."

Haruka stares back flatly.

"Never heard of it."

Rin's wrists jerk up from the laptop, and Haruka could swear one of his trendy thread-bracelets makes a snapping sound. From the looks of it, it's not what Rin's used to hearing when throwing that name around. But it's not a lie; Haruka's not much of a movie person, not if it involves going out and sitting in a room with other people pretending to care about stories someone else has written.

"You've never-- _what?_ What about-- I mean--"

From the sounds of it, it's taking Rin great effort not to pull up his personal Imdb page. In the end, what he settles on instead is a violent headshake, followed by a grimace.

"Okay, whatever, I don't need to prove my credentials to you alright?" Rin mutters, glaring at the screen, "What matters is that I'm here because I was asked to come and save your script."

Right on cue, Haruka's eyes narrow again.

"... _Save_ it?!"

And well, you know how the cliché goes?

Oh, yes -- it's going to be a _long_ night.

 

 

 

iv

 

Haruka doesn't like the director.

He decides on this, roughly around the time he realizes there is something's driving Rin's suggestions, something other than the age old motive he always feels radiating off network people. For example: once they start going over Rin's suggestions, not all of them are motivated by financial gain.

"Okay, here--" Rin will point out to something, "I get why you want Natsuki to prove her bravery by hooping through another multigalactic dimensional portal. But she's done it in every chapter so far. What if there was less hooping and more, say, widescreen shots of the Aqua Dome? Sure, it's gonna give the FX department grey hairs anyway, but it would let the viewers take in exactly what Natsuki managed to _save_."

It's actually not a bad suggestion. The only problem is, it's coming from Rin; and until Haruka knows what Rin's real angle is, he will remain suspicious, and therefore cannot like the director.

Not that it's in his nature to like anyone who points out that what he's doing is wrong. Makoto never did it, the publishers never did it, even the executives never did it -- the first person who _did_ was Yamazaki, but it was easy enough to shrug him off as a greedy killjoy.

Rin is... different. Surely, his notes are full of red circles and exclamation points that say dumb things like _redundant!!_ or _overly complicated!!_ but he also has _suggestions_ ; everything he insists needs changing, he also offers ideas on how to improve the scene.

As though he's actually read it.

As though he knows the reaction Haruka has, beneath the hundreds of layers of anarchistic prose, been trying to evoke.

(In a sense, this makes Haruka most suspicious of all.)

"As for the space hippopotamuses here..." Rin muses, scrolling down the document while leafing through the physical copy of the manuscript at the same time; his bracelets drag along the page, and Haruka still doesn't know why they're made of thread.

"Yeah, the hippos have got to go. They serve no other purpose _besides_ giving the FX department grey hairs, so off they go."

"That's not really my problem."

"It's about to _become_ your problem if you don't cut them out, Nanase."

Haruka resists the urge to roll his eyes, like he used to do in middle school when the teacher told him his use of language was too verbose. _For someone so silent you sure have trouble staying within the allocated character limit_ , they would say, and Haruka would spite them by writing even longer sentences the next time he had to hand in an essay.

To Rin's credit, he's very good at singling out things Haruka's been doing, as Yamazaki suspected, _simply out of spite_. No, there's no real reason why the hippos are there, yes, but he doesn't feel like handing that out to Rin like some sort of silent victory.

"Speaking of problems," Rin goes on, and his brows knit together in a frown, "Sousuke tells me it takes Natsuki's actress three hours to do the stunts for each action scene. And that's not even counting in her stunt doubles, two of whom have landed in the hospital in the past six months. So you should do something about that too, before the show's accidentally out of a lead."

Haruka doesn't like the way that name rolls off Rin's tongue. All it does is remind him that deep down, Yamazaki is behind all this -- and that deep down all it means Rin cannot be trusted.

"Why?" he says dryly, "Because _Yamazaki_ said so?"

Rin looks up, perplexed.

"What? No-- Nanase, you don't get it. The girl who plays Natsuki... she's my _sister_."

This takes Haruka aback.

It takes him forward, too, the moment he realizes _this_ is what Rin's features remind him of: they're a little sharper and unwelcoming than Natsuki's trademark grin, but the poster Haruka's kept since the launch of the TV show proves Rin's words true.

"Matsuoka Gou," Haruka says, like stating a fact. "She's your sister."

"Uh, yeah?" Rin nods, then tilts his head. "...That's the reason why I'm here."

"...But you said you owed someone a favour."

"I do. She always had my back when I was first starting out, so I'm not about to let anyone waste her big break."

It's Haruka's turn to frown. "...Waste?"

Rin eyes at him sideways, clearly contemplating how honest he can be with Haruka without it becoming a liability. Or that's what Haruka would do, anyway; now that Haruka knows of Rin's Achillie's heel, there's reason for Rin to be cautious of him, too.

It's not how Rin perceives the situation, though.

"She was always a huge fan of your books," Rin says instead, and his voice drops a few notes with a softness that instantly piques Haruka's ear, "...That's why she was ecstatic when they cast her on the TV show. She's-- I never used the family name in the business so she did, to make sure nobody thought I was the reason she got the part."

A tiny smile lingers on his lips, before it twists. "The truth is she just loves _Natsuki in Space_. Or used to, before you started torturing her character just to be an ass."

The accusation comes so suddenly that Haruka doesn't know how to prepare for it. Nor does he deny it.

Because the truth is, Rin's right: over the years, his resentment for the TV show butchering his creation has started to turn into resentment for his characters, as though _they_ are the ones chaining Haruka. As if it's _their_ fault he's in this mess, bound by contracts and agreements and signatures he wasn't paying enough attention to, and the only way to take his frustration out on anyone is to--

"...I just want you to lay off her, alright?"

Rin's voice is quieter now, like the topic of his sister strips him off all ego. "...She used to love Natsuki, but she's not so sure anymore."

Haruka remains silent for a long time.

When he finally speaks, it's not just Rin whose voice comes out quiet.

"...I used to love Natsuki, too."

He doesn't need to add in the rest, because both of them already know.

 

 

 

v

 

They decide to take a break.

Somehow, the mood is different after Haruka learns about Rin's sister, and it would feel weird to continue. Somehow, the exchange has turned Rin into a person, someone who isn't here simply to make Haruka's life even more miserable.

Somehow, it turns Rin into someone Haruka makes tea for.

He's not sure why. He doesn't feel-- guilty, about Gou, maybe; but the truth is that whenever he kept submitting these joke scripts to the publisher, not once did Haruka stop to think about the people involved in actually bringing his words to life. It was easy to ignore Yamazaki's complaints about the 'special effects crew' or 'stuntmen' or even the people responsible for staging, but none of them had registered in Haruka's mind as real.

 _Real_ , as in people who have to live with the consequences of Haruka's decisions, as ludicrous as they may be.

"...I'm sorry," he says anyway, setting down two cups and a pot of green tea.

Rin glances up, midway through fastening his ponytail; the lid of his laptop is closed, and the manuscript tucked away underneath it as though keeping a Pandora's Box at bay.

"...Is that how you know about my books?" Haruka goes on, never specifying what his apology is aimed at -- partly, because he doesn't really know that either. "...Because your sister is a fan?"

This makes the side of Rin's mouth curve up a little. "...Yes and no. I mean-- yeah, that's the reason I've read them myself."

Haruka halts. The admission is so easy, he feels as though something negative ought to follow -- like a dismissal, or critique, or anything that would shift Rin's ego above Haruka's again. That's how people like Rin work, right?

But the dismissal never comes. Turns out, Rin's initial comment about Haruka's writing _not being half bad_ remains true, even after Haruka's unfamiliarity with cinema cannot validate Rin's skills in return; perhaps, Haruka wonders as he hides his expression in pouring tea, there's more to Rin's confidence than being a show-off.

"My sister always loved Natsuki's sense of adventure the most," Rin goes on, oblivious to being observed.

"...And you?"

The question makes Rin's brow furrow lightly, but smoothens in a smile that comes off almost... teasing, paired with his voice. "Why, _now_ you care about my opinions, Nanase?"

"I," Haruka responds, but his defensiveness doesn't kick in with quite the vigor it usually does. Instead, he feels... compelled, almost, to take Rin's question at face value.

So he does.

"...I think I care about making Natsuki happy, again."

This earns him a raised brow. Rin is silent for a moment, then reaches out for his bag and pulls out a notebook. Then he shuffles towards Haruka a little, like he's trying to close the distance between them before the moment breaks and Haruka flees back into the wild like an elusive animal.

" _There_ ," Rin breathes out, and there's no sign of the pompous director in him now, only an excitement that surges from the tip of his pen. "Hold that thought, and don't let it go. I need you to tell me, what is it that you think would make Natsuki happy?"

Haruka glances away. He's more used to being the one _with_ the notebook, so watching Rin fill the role feels... strange. Being asked that feels... strange.

Realizing he hasn't asked himself that in years is the strangest feeling of all.

"Space always made Natsuki happy," Haruka hears himself say softly, "Because space is endless, and space makes you free."

Rin nods, not taking his eyes off the notebook. It makes it easier for Haruka to keep talking, whether Rin knows it or not.

"...But I think it made her lonely, somewhere along the way," Haruka drifts off, "...Always travelling to the next world, and leaving one behind. She saved a lot of people on her journeys, but..."

Rin's pen stills.

"...You're right," he breathes out, as if running his mind through countless of chapters in the matter of seconds, "I don't think you ever wrote about Natsuki feeling lonely, though she clearly must have been."

He looks up at Haruka. "I mean, she had the tremendous gift of space-travel, but despite having friends, there was nobody who shared her exact fate, right? But not having anyone who really understood what it was like, having that kind of pressure shoved upon her, well it must have--"

Rin suddenly goes silent, something faintly red tinting his neck like a flush. "...Sorry. I... got a little carried away."

"...No, go on," Haruka says, suddenly alert to the way Rin avoids his eye; like there's something to his words that resonates with a part of Haruka, a flicker of light in the intensity of Rin's voice.

Chewing on the end of his pen, Rin takes a moment before he continues. "...It's just that, my sister always said Natsuki was so lucky," he finally says, "But when you really think about it, being the only person in the world with that kind of ability is a huge responsibility. Everyone needs so much out of you. And you can't let people down. Doing all that alone is..."

Rin hesitates, then lets out a little laugh as though trying to laugh the seriousness off. "...Or maybe I'm just projecting," he says, but there is something weirdly defeated in his tone.

Haruka says nothing.

Rin says nothing.

Haruka proceeds to pour them both another cup of tea.

 

 

 

vi

 

It's ten past ten in the evening.

Haruka hasn't eaten in twelve hours. It hasn't been intentional; it's simply been a strange day.

"I'll get us something to eat," Haruka says, finally breaking the silence. Rin looks up like he's about to object, whether out of courtesy or fear of being poisoned, but the grumble of his stomach cuts him off.

"I could just head back to the hotel," he calls out after Haruka eventually, "It's late, and I--"

Haruka turns around.

"Forty-eight hours."

Rin blinks. "What?"

"You said, we have forty eight hours," Haruka repeats, "To fix my script. If you go back to the hotel, you'll waste more time."

"...So, what, I'm sleeping here?" Rin says, lifting a brow.

"If you insist on sleeping," Haruka shrugs, and returns to his pantry, "We could just work overnight."

Rin's expression is evident in his voice when he counters, "...Why does that sound like something you do a lot?"

Haruka doesn't bother with an answer.

He cooks what he always cooks: grilled fish with a touch of salt, miso soup, and some pickled vegetables from the fridge. There's an unlimited supply of the latter, because by the time he finishes one container, Makoto's always bringing a new one over.

"I kind of took you for the type of person who was useless in the kitchen," Rin admits after a few bites, "Everyone in the business says you're a hermit. I thought you'd live on cup noodles."

"I don't need to know what everyone in the business says about me," Haruka replies, and means it.

Rin doesn't seem to get the hint.

"Well, maybe you should," he says, pulling at the crisp skin of the fish with his chopsticks, "Because the word is you're notoriously hard to work with. If it weren't for your manager, god knows how you could have made all the connections. Luckily he's got a very natural charm--"

"I _get it_ ," Haruka says sharply, too sharply even, for the subject at hand.

He can't help it, though. He doesn't like the way they're back to talking about business; doesn't like the way it makes Rin slip back into _famous director_ mode. Doesn't like being compared to Makoto, and doesn't like how...

(...no, what is it that he was waiting for?)

Haruka doesn't know.

Rin goes quiet at Haruka's agitation. In the light of the kitchen lamp he looks... worn out, somehow. It's not until here that Haruka realizes Rin seems _tired_ , like as soon as Rin stops talking the adrenaline leaves his body, and exhaustion clings to his every move.

It makes Haruka want to say _sorry_ again, but he still doesn't know what he'd be apologizing for.

They finish their late night dinner in silence. Afterwards, Haruka collects the dishes and they stare at the manuscript in the middle of the table.

"...Maybe we should start going over the scenes from the second half," Rin says, and sounds as absent-minded as Haruka feels.

Neither one of them touches the manuscript.

Because the truth is, Haruka doesn't want to go over the scenes. He doesn't even care about fixing the script. He doesn't care about the business or the TV show or the ten different ways Yamazaki will strangle him on Monday.

What Haruka _wants_ is to talk to Rin about Natsuki.

The realization of this is as simple as they come, but it gets stuck in Haruka's throat. It's weird, really; he's spent so long saying whatever he wants to whoever he likes (money buys you arrogance, as much as it buys you immunity), but Rin is not like all the other executives he's dealt with, and telling him this would feel like...

(...Like saying the name _Natsuki_ would bring up more than an opinion; like it brings up... a part of Haruka, in a way he both does and does not want anyone to be able to see.)

He doesn't understand anything.

It's been a _really_ strange day.

But after sitting in silence for five minutes, what Rin seemingly concludes is that it ought to get even weirder, because he takes a deep breath and says:

"You know what? I think I'm just gonna trash the manuscript altogether."

This finally gives Haruka incentive to react. " _What?!_ "

Rin turns to him, his expression oddly calm. "I feel like it's pointless to try and fix it when the real answer is far more obvious," he explains, matter-of-factly, "Nanase, you should just rewrite the whole thing."

"...What?" Haruka repeats, but it comes off less offended this time; he can tell Rin's not trying to challenge him anymore, but instead, it's an admission of trust.

"I want," Rin says, taking a deep breath and turning back to Haruka, "You to go back, to everything you wanted to tell when _Natsuki in Space_ first started. I want you to bring it back."

"But what about--" Haruka begins, but Rin silences him with a shake of his head.

"Don't think about Sousuke right now," he says, waving a quick hand in the air, "And don't think about the production either. Just... think about the kind of book you'd write, if you could write it without any pressure of having to deliver a hit."

For a moment, Haruka stares at him.

Then he looks at Rin's notebook.

"Can I use that?" he asks.

"If I can use your futon," Rin replies, and stretches out his arms, "I've been up for thirty-five hours after flying back to Japan for this mess of a session, and I am not about to sit here and watch you write me a book."

Haruka stifles the sudden urge to laugh, and it comes out as a half-snort.

"I'm not going to write you a book tonight."

But Rin's not listening; he's already headed for Haruka's cupboard, pulling out a comforter as he goes. "I'm gonna take like a thirty minute power-nap, and then I'll be good again," he explains, "Meanwhile, you do what you do best, and screw the rest."

Haruka nods. It feels like the safest thing to do.

"Just... don't overthink it," Rin yawns as he reclines on the futon, clothes and all, and Haruka doesn't even care about objecting. "Just tell me about the things that matter."

His eyes close with heavy lids, and Haruka can hear the countless of miles travelled in the breath Rin takes that comes out barely a mumble:

"...Just tell me who Natsuki really is."

In minutes he's asleep, one slender arm curved under his head like a pillow. The thread bracelet touches the underside of Rin's jaw, and it takes Haruka a few more minutes before he looks away.

Thirty minutes come and go, and Haruka doesn't wake Rin up.

 

 

 

vii

 

It's well past noon when Rin comes to.

"What year is it," he croaks, and lets out a wince when his shoulder stretches back out; in a matter of seconds he notices the light that floods through the balcony, and something panicked sets in his eyes.

"Shit, I _didn't_ \--"

"You were tired," Haruka cuts him off, never taking his pen off the page, "So I let you sleep."

Rin pushes himself upright, rubbing his numb arms. "How much time did I waste, though? If we only have forty-eight hours, then--"

"You were right," Haruka talks over him again. It's not out of malice; instead, there's no point in letting Rin work himself up into a frenzy over things that are no longer an issue.

"Yesterday, you said: if I agree to all the changes, the story could be fixed by tonight;" Haruka explains once Rin looks drowsy as he also seems confused at his bluntness, "And I agreed to the rewrite. And now it's done."

The face Rin pulls is nothing short of incredulous. "Are you trying to trick me into believing you wrote a _book_ overnight?"

Haruka doesn't resist the urge to roll his eyes anymore. " _No_. But I did finish an outline. And that's all Yamazaki really wants, to know my next volume isn't about to derail off the tracks."

"That's..." Rin stutters, like it's still taking him a moment to re-attune to reality, "Uh, well. Alright."

With a flick of his wrist, Haruka closes the notebook. Straightening out his spine, he looks directly at Rin. "Do you want to read it over?"

There's an instinctive tug of Rin's arm, but he holds it down before it reaches over. To Haruka's surprise Rin simply shakes his head, and follows it with a small smile.

"...It's fine," he says, "I think I'll wait for the book."

For whatever reason, it makes Haruka swallow.

For whatever reason, it makes Haruka feel light.

For whatever reason, the softness in Rin's voice, the way his hair sticks out, how his smile finally reaches all the way up to his eyes -- all of it makes Haruka feel like the day he saw the final period at the end of the final sentence of the very first _Natsuki in Space_ novel, before he closed the book.

He averts his gaze, and tries not to feel anything at all.

"...Then," he breathes out, "...I know you're a busy person. So you don't have to stay for the rest of the weekend, considering you finished what you came here to do."

The notebook sits there in his hands, and its covers feel warm to the touch.

Rin runs a single hand through his messy bed hair, and Haruka hates that he's actually hanging on whatever it is that Rin is about to say. It shouldn't matter, after all; the two of them are practically strangers, and have their own lives to lead, anyway.

And yet, when Rin finally looks up, there's something nearly sheepish in his voice:

"...Can I have breakfast, first?"

Haruka lifts up the notebook, but only to hide his smile.

In the end, Rin doesn't leave until the sun bleeds in purple. Haruka's not sure how it quite happens; somehow they simply go from breakfast ("I mean, it's just 'cause you're a surprisingly good cook") to Rin _really_ pulling up his Imdb page ("Come on, I know you've seen at least something on here!") to Rin making aggressive phone calls to people with no faces, while Haruka sits and makes edits to his first outline.

By the end of the day, though, Rin looks at his watch and lets out a long sigh.

"I guess it can't be helped," he says, mouth curving mirthlessly, and it's all he really needs to say; because Haruka knows that expression, the _late for meetings I don't want to have, early for appointments I personally never made_ face, one he's met in the mirror one time too many.

Haruka intuitively follows Rin to the door.

As it opens, Haruka looks up, then sideways, then down.

"...Rin, I--" he begins, and realizes there are a hundred ways to finish that sentence, none of which Haruka knows quite how to put into words; in the end he finishes with, "...I still have your notebook."

Rin pauses, then shakes his head.

"...Just keep it. You probably filled it up, anyway."

It's true.

That's not the reason Haruka asks, though.

Because when Rin tilts his head and says, _well, I'd best be off_ , Haruka's not sure if Rin remembers -- that the first three pages of that notebook belong to someone else's writing, belong to the man who feigns just a bit too much aloofness the moment he has to wave Haruka off.

That night the house is empty, but the kitchen smells like grilled fish and the futon smells like Rin, and Haruka's fingers run down the words:

 

_CONS OF WORKING WITH NANASE_

_\- everyone says this guy is nuts_

_\- may feed me to an exotic house pet_

_\- does he actually talk to anyone?? ever???_

_\- am missing a pretty big deal by wasting a weekend in Tokyo_

_\- he might actually be the girl from the Ring_

_PROS OF WORKING WITH NANASE_

_\- Matsuoka you dumbass this is the only thing you've wanted since you first read that stupid book YOU'RE NOT GONNA RUIN THIS CHANCE_

 

Haruka closes his eyes, and he sleeps for fifteen full hours.

 

 

 

viii

 

"Ah, Nanase-sensei! Thank you so much for taking our call!"

The line is a little unstable, but a discernible face soon pops into view: a red ponytail swings back and forth on Haruka's computer screen, before it's covered by an enthusiastic wave.

"Hello," he says politely, watching Matsuoka Gou settle back into her seat. They must be on set, he thinks, given that she's wearing her character's trademark black and purple clothes.

"I know you must be busy," Gou then says, bringing her fists together like she's about to burst with excitement, "But I wanted you to be the first person outside crew to hear this: the season finale broke all previous viewer ratings!! They said the show's never been as popular!"

"That's..." Haruka says, not knowing if Gou is actually expecting him to respond, "...That's great."

Sure enough, she's already leaning outside the frame to yell at someone else: "Fuu-chan! I know you're there, come on and say hi to Nanase-sensei!"

In a matter of moments, another girl walks into view: her jet black hair is chin-length in cut, but when she makes contact with the camera, her eyes look back at Haruka both wide and blue.

"...Ah. Nanase-sensei. Thank you for taking our call."

Haruka nods, and the girl nods back.

The other actress, she doesn't talk much -- and it's but one of the reasons Yamazaki insisted they cast her, when the character of Fuyuki was introduced this season. (Turns Yamazaki isn't half bad at being a producer -- the two leads have amazing chemistry on screen.)

"Anyway," Gou chimes back in, filling the screen with energy again, "We're going to have a huge celebration party this weekend. And we'd love to have you here. Tachibana-san already said he'd come!"

In his mind's eye, Haruka can clearly envision the whirlwind of Matsuoka Gou attacking Makoto over a Skype call; the thought almost makes curves the side of his mouth. Still, even Gou's natural charm isn't enough to sway Haruka into attending some ridiculous party, filled with people he doesn't actually care to talk about any more than he cares to pretend like he cares.

Well, unless...

"...Is, ah," he begins, and the familiarity of not knowing how to phrase his real feelings rouses its ugly head again, "...Do you know if..."

"...My brother's gonna come?" Gou finishes for him, but her voice softens into something private. Haruka's not sure if he likes it; soft means Gou knows something he doesn't, which does not need to be much considering Haruka hasn't spoken to Rin in well over a year.

Well, not that their interactions have really counted as _speaking_.

After Haruka submitted his outline to Yamazaki on that Monday two years ago, he's gotten exactly one (1) e-mail from Rin that went, ad verbatim, _i think you just broke sousuke. you owe me a best friend_ , as well as one (1) note passed through Makoto that said, again ad verbatim, _congrats on your publishing date. i look forward to my copies -- both the book and the script_.

To be fair, Haruka never replied to either one.

Instead, he ended up watching _My Shining_. He ended up watching all of Rin's films, and some he watched twice; it was safer than actually talking to Rin, because with fiction it's you who chooses when to finish watching, and when you want to stop reading and go home at the end of the day.

(Either way the cover always closes on the final sentence, and nothing about you stays the same.)

"...I'm sorry, Nanase-sensei, but he's flying out of Japan tonight."

The apology in Gou's voice brings Haruka out of his thoughts.

"No, it's--" Haruka is quick to respond, too quick even, and shakes his head. "Don't worry about it. I'm sure I have to write this weekend, anyway."

Gou pauses, but only long enough to stifle a smile.

"I'm sure it'll lead to Natsuki and Fuyuki having tons of exciting adventures!" she cheers him on, and the video call ends with her force-hugging the other actress; she looks pained, but also, affectionate in a way Haruka thinks only he can recognize.

Afterwards, Haruka closes his laptop and sits in silence.

The truth is he doesn't actually need to write this weekend. The truth is he has no preoccupations. The truth is...

_The truth is that after you fulfill your duty and save the day, nobody really needs you, for anything at all._

Until there's a ring at the door.

At first, Haruka's not sure if he imagines it. There's been a lot of ringing lately, in his dreams filled with echo chambers and a laughter he doesn't want to recognize; in those dreams he opens the door to a cloudy morning, and there's absolutely no-one there.

But this ring is not a doorbell. It's not even coming from his front door.

The second ring comes muffled _through_ the entrance, and Haruka realizes it's someone's phone.

And somehow, it's here that he knows; even as his head swims and sways, he knows; even as his hand hits the handle and it jolts him with static electricity, Haruka knows there's only possible explanation for this, because things like this only ever happen in fiction until they start bleeding into real life.

"Shut up, Gou," the voice comes out clear the moment Haruka pushes the door open. "I know alright--?! I'm already--"

The rest of Rin's words finish into the receiver in stunned surprise, "...Here."

It's not a very sunny day, the day he returns.

Haruka thinks of this, because when he stands there with the door wide open, the man in front of him looks more radiant than anything in the sky.

But this man also looks: older (his hair a little longer), smarter (his clothes a little less flashy), healthier (he's eating better, isn't he?), and... more nervous, than the person Haruka found him on his doorstep and almost shut a door in his face.

(Of course Haruka notices the details. He's pictured this scene in his head a thousand times, after all.)

"...Hey," Rin says, and Haruka's head feels light.

Shoving the frantically yelling phone back into his pocket, Rin takes a deep breath.

"I...", he begins, then swallows. In his left hand is a canvas bag, one that he proceeds to shove into Haruka's arms. "...Here. Don't worry, I asked Tachibana-- he said it should be enough to last you for a few days."

It's Haruka's turn to looked perplexed; _this_ certainly isn't part of the script he has written in his (secret, bashful, defensive, foolish) head.

When he fails to either speak or move, Rin tilts his head.

"Come on," Rin quips, like he's relying on the element of surprise to last him through the nerves, "We're going to be late for our flight."

" _Rin_ ," Haruka says, and for a moment there's an unreadable look on Rin's face: something sheepish, something hopeful, something a little panicked, and finally--

"...I heard you."

The words are followed by a pause. It's the kind of pause that says so much, coming from Rin; because Rin would never stop talking, and Haruka could never think of the right things to say.

Haruka looks up, and finds Rin looking away.

"...I know you never replied," Rin breathes out, "...I wasn't sure if you ever would. But I wasn't looking at what you'd actually _written_ to me. I mean... I read the book. And I read the script. And I know I might be making a total ass out of myself here but--"

He turns back to Haruka, and playful confidence has returned to his voice.

"...Hey, Haru. Don't you think it's about time you went on an intergalactic adventure with me?"

 _Haru?_ Haruka almost blurts out, but the name rolls off Rin's tongue with unexpected ease; and there is too much, too much here for him to even begin objecting at the familiarity, because suddenly the air around Haruka feels heavy and expectant all at once.

 _You don't know what you're talking about_ , he could say.

 _You're imagining things_ , he could say.

 _I don't even know who you really are_ , he could say, too, but then, that one would be a lie; because the man who stands before him only needs to reach out his hand (trying to disguise a shy smile), for Haruka to know that--

_The worlds that lie beyond that door are endless, and they will make you free_

He steps through the doorway, and all the words he's ever written come bursting into life.

 

 

 

 

* * *

_[...] Because as different as they seemed as people, the two of them were the same; the child born from Summer sun, and the one born from Winter snow._

_" Do you have any idea who I_ am _?" Natsuki said, but the girl only nodded at her surprise._

_"You're Natsuki," Fuyuki said._

_When she reached out her pale hand, there was a red thread bracelet tied around her wrist._

_"You're Natsuki," she repeated, "And you're not alone anymore."_

\- fin

**Author's Note:**

> The original prompt, as it happens, was this:
> 
>  
> 
> _"Haru is a relatively prolific writer and after his latest series of (fantasy maybe?) books suddenly becomes a massive global success - his manager (Sousuke? Makoto?) negotiates a fantastic business deal. The series gets turned into an originally very good, but continuously more and more disappointing high budget TV show (changes to Haru's story, weird pacing, new irrelevant side characters taking away from the plot etc), it's too late for second thoughts and Haru can't break the contract without serious repercussions. So, to spite the studio producing the show, Haru starts making the plot of the books increasingly more complicated, with dangling plot threads to be resolved far in the future, and comes up with more and more difficult (and expensive) situations and settings to the film. The books continue gaining in popularity exponentially, so the studio doesn't want to drop it just yet. They send one of their more talented directors to Haru's house (Rin, ideally he'd have to stay with him there for a while) to try and "coordinate efforts" in getting the show back on track [...] Haru at first is very sour and stubbornly resistant to the very concept, but Rin's persistence and fresh ideas eventually win him over. (Author's choice in how it's resolved.)"_
> 
>  
> 
> Or, how I took a perfectly good prompt and turned it into existential angst: the sequel, the 2 fast 2 furious, the story of my life.
> 
> Regardless, I hope you still enjoyed.


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